Nocturnal Omissions
by cowgirlfromhell
Summary: Sam and Dean meet the girl of their dreams. Will they be nice and share? “Think about it, Sammy, she’s every man’s fantasy. Beautiful, rich, knows what a Holley carburetor is and she owns a bar.” Sequel to Daddy's Gone A Hunting.
1. Chapter 1

Nocturnal Omissions

It was another nameless motel in another nondescript town along the great expanse called the mid-west. The room, resplendent in knotty pine and Shawnee corn pottery, was depressing to say the least. Even the bathroom had a corn motif right down to the dried cobs set on the back of the john as a joke should the toilet paper run out.

Sam Winchester lay supine on the green and yellow, dingle-ball fringed, chenille bedspread as he searched for local news stories on a cluster of unexplained deaths where seemingly healthy young men simply fell asleep and never woke up. His brother Dean laid odds that they simply couldn't stand the boredom of small town America and had committed suicide by slumber. More than likely there was a perfectly natural explanation and Dean hoped Sam would find it quickly so they could move on out of corn country.

The older of the Winchester boys often thought that Middle America was more like Middle Earth and as soon as he had his backpack thrown on the bed closest to the wall and a quick shower, he left the motel room in search of a nice cold beer at the one and only bar in town, the Red Ram.

The bar was a large, run down, wooden structure that had probably seen it heyday sometime in the 1930's but, like a moth to neon, Dean was drawn to the roadhouse's beer signs and colored soap adverts on the windows touting a huge dance floor and 'twofers' every night from 6:00 to 10:00.

Laid out haphazardly in front of the rustic but seedy looking dump was a parking lot full of pick-up trucks most balanced high on tires huge, knobbed and grotesque, slick little sports cars, motorcycles of all makes and cc's and a nice selection of muscle cars though, to his mind, the Impala put them all to shame.

Pulling into the lot he pulled into what looked like a spot and revved the Chevy's powerful engine before shutting her off just to annoy the crap out of the matchbox toy owners and stepped out of the car to the welcome sound of crushed gravel beneath his boots and, saints be praised, 'You Shook Me All Night Long' puking out the door every time it opened.

With beer on his mind and lust in his heart Dean headed up the stairs and inside in hopes of knocking back a few and maybe hooking up with one or more of the tank topped, Daisy Duke shorts wearing girls who were a staple of small college towns like Avery.

Inside the bar were the requisite frat boys, bikers, truck drivers, farm boys, cowboys and tourists hot on the trail of the world's biggest ball of twine. Daisy Dukes of all sizes and flavors stood two and three deep at the bar with groping hands plastered to their nicely rounded (or not so) asses and, while the co-ed Daisies worked the frat boys, the working Daisies schlepped drinks and delivered food at full tilt amid the chaos.

Sighing wearily but determined to catch a second wind Dean made his way through the crush to the back of the barroom and sat down at an empty table. At least one place in Mayberry was jumping hr thought surveying his new kingdom.

"What can I get ya, Mister?"

It was a vanilla Daisy with blonde hair so silken and shiny that it could only be her natural color and eyes as blue as the sky. She was a gum snapper and tonight, as tightly wound as he was, she was defiantly his type. Hell,l they all were.

"A Bud and directions to your place when you get off," Dean told her flashing a killer smile.

"The Bud's a given but the other…not a chance in hell, stud."

She held up her left hand and waggled her ring finger. The wall light flashed off a small gold band as she turned to go. She was back before he had time to scout out his next target.

"Here you go stud, a Bud and a Jameson back."

"I didn't order Jack's much older and much more expensive brother," he told her holding the glass of rich, amber liquid. "I'm even kinda surprised you have it on shelf here."

"It's private stock. The lady over there wanted to buy you a drink."

The barmaid pointed to a small table set back toward the kitchen, a table usually reserved for employees only.

The "lady" looked to be closer to his age than that of the coeds in the bar and Dean would bet that if she stood up her ass cheeks wouldn't be hanging out of shredded blue jean shorts. In fact, as he looked her over appreciatively, he saw that she wore a slinky dress of royal blue, his favorite color on a woman, especially one with raven's wing black hair. He also noted that she was alone and watching him like a hawk as she lifted her drink and smiled at him.

Dean lifted his glass in acknowledgment and was ready to toss back the contents but remembered that Jameson was a fine Irish whiskey meant to be sipped, savored and not slammed down and puked up later. Leaving the beer behind he walked over to her table.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

She laughed at his apparent affection for old movies and his blatant audacity and, indicated the seat across from her; Dean sat down and breathed deeply. She smelled expensive and, if his first impression was right, he wondered if he could even afford her.

He had a wad of cash in his jeans pocket and two or three credit cards that hadn't been maxed out yet but when she smiled at him with her pouty, blood red lips he decided credit limits be damned. He wanted her.

As if reading his mind she tipped her glass to her lips and lifted a dark eyebrow questioningly.

"Dean Winchester," he replied and leaned forward to extend his hand, "Thanks for the drink."

"Mari," she told him as she shook his hand and, taking a page from his playbook, held onto it longer than needed before letting him go.

Dean relaxed back into the chair and took a sip of the amber liquid and, ever the pragmatist, wondered if she had mistaken him for some kind of dressed down high roller that she could drug and rob. He fervently hoped so. She didn't even need to slip him the roofies because when he looked into her eyes again he was ready to give her everything he had…including his baby.

"You walked into my gin joint actually," she informed him, "I own the Red Ram."

"Sorry. Didn't mean a joint …it's really a…nice place, it's…" he stumbled then just gave up and shut his mouth.

When she laughed at his attempt at an apology it was deep and throaty and genuine.

"The locals and the tourists like it," she told him well aware of her bar's perceived shortcomings. It was rustic to say the least but an incredible moneymaker nonetheless.

"I can see why," Dean conceded, "Nothing says class like carving your name in a tabletop or throwing your bra and panties over the rafters."

She laughed again and poured them each another drink.

"So, Dean Winchester, I haven't seen you in here before."

"Just passing through with…" Dean was about to mention his brother but thought better of it. Sammy was a good-looking guy, smart and more sophisticated in his 22 years than he'd ever be and he didn't need the competition when it came to this particular conquest. "Just passing through," he finished and took another sip of his drink.

"This would be the town to pass through alright. Too provincial for my taste," she told him, "But for some reason I stay."

Men like Dean Winchester made her stay. She had spotted him the moment he'd come through the door and she had liked what she'd seen. Nice full head of brown hair, cut short but with enough length to be stylishly tousled, beautiful green eyes and the lips of an angel. She imagined kissing them and locked eyes with him over the lip of her glass.

Dean swallowed hard. He'd never been seduced simply by a look and her dark blue eyes spoke volumes...all of them pornographic. He took a moment to adjust himself in his seat thankful for that little extra room in his jeans.

"Tell me about yourself, Dean Winchester."

"Just Dean," he told her and added, "From nowhere by way of Kansas. I'm just taking some time off…between semesters."

"Semesters?" Mari asked a little jaundicely.

He was older than most, had been around the block a time or two she guessed and he'd be more of a challenge…and she liked nothing better than a good challenge.

"Grad school. Stanford," he lied without missing a beat and watched her interest pique even more.

"Excellent school," she said with a certain amount of admiration.

There was no way in hell he would ever introduce her to Sam. "You must have a degree or two to be able to run this place," he suggested pointing from one end of the large establishment to the other.

"Not even a business degree to guide me through the trials and tribulations of owning a bar," she told him, "I'm pretty good with a hammer though and have put in my fair share of hours keeping the place in one piece."

Although her clothes and demeanor screamed money, to Dean, Mari seemed to be pretty down to earth, a self-made woman and he felt more or less on even footing with her until she told him, "I went to a convent school and when I graduated my parents wanted me to pledge myself to the church so college really wasn't an option."

The even footing gave way as he felt as if his feet had been suddenly knocked out from under him.

"Thank you, God," he mumbled to himself.

A good, and hopefully repressed as hell, Catholic girl who had at one time been headed for a nunnery sat directly across the table from him. It was as if he'd won the sex lottery and waiting for the payoff had become painful.

Mari offered him another drink but he stilled her hand with his. "I'm sorry," he said with a sigh, "but I need some fresh air. Your perfume is driving me crazy."

She frowned misunderstanding his obvious ploy.

"You don't like Chanel?" she asked wide-eyed, her brows arching in uncertainty.

"I adore Chanel," he assured her even though he didn't think he'd ever been within five hundred miles of any woman who ever wore Chanel.

He stood and held out his hand and hoped she would take it because he was fresh out of small talk and overflowing with testosterone.

She simply laughed and let him guide her to her feet.

"Where are you staying?" Mari asked as he led her toward the door, the hot redhead manning the bar watching them as they walked by, a look of distaste on her cute as hell pixie face.

"I really haven't checked in anyplace yet. Came straight here," he lied to her again as they headed for the Impala and, desperate for release, gave her a pained, puppy dog look. "Your place?" he suggested hopefully.

"No, not my place…yet," she answered smoothly smiling when he frowned.

Her enigmatic smile and faint promise hinted of a possible husband or boyfriend tending to hearth and home but at that moment Dean really didn't care. He was offering and evidently she was accepting but with her place off limits he couldn't very well take her back to the motel and throw Sam out on his ass. So thinking on the fly he came up with a place a little bit out of the ordinary for a couple of pushing thirty-somethings but one a good Catholic girl of any age could relate to.

"Then let me take you someplace I passed on the way here," he said and opened the Impala's passenger door for her. He watched her slide in, her dress riding high over long, lean, tanned thighs and, as he rounded the back of the car to open the driver's door, the young hunter shook his head vigorously to make sure he wasn't dreaming.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean and Mari traveled past the town limits and turned down a well-traveled dirt road that led to a small lake and to a spot that Mari recognized immediately.

"Lover's lane. I love it!" she proclaimed and threw her head back and laughed as Dean eased the Chevy into park. "This is perfect. I've never made love in a 1967 Chevy Impala with a 250 cubic inch, 4097.5 cc, 16 valve, 4.1 liter engine before."

Mari, God love her, right down to business Dean thought. No games, no promises, no lies, no bullshit and he told her quite honestly, as he stretched his arm out over the back of the seat and ran his fingers lightly over the nape of her neck, "I am so in lust with you right now."

The woman was gorgeous. She was also one smart cookie and as Dean looked at her profile in the dashboard lights his mouth went dry and he was suddenly as anxious as a dork on his first date with someone other than his cousin.

He cleared his throat nervously and Mari glanced sideways at him smiling mischievously and suggested, "Just pretend this is my first time."

Dean knew that many a pregnancy had resulted from the proverbial first time and he jokingly grabbed the door handle and moved as if to get out of the car.

She laughed again. "No?"

"Oh, HELL no! I've never been much for going boldly where no man has gone before. I feel more comfortable in charted waters."

Charted waters. Mari liked the analogy. "You've never wanted the little house with the white picket fence? The pure as the driven snow wife and the 2.4 kids?"

Dean turned to stare out the windshield into the darkness his smile fading a little, "Maybe...once."

"But not now?" Mari asked concerned that the mood was quickly dampening.

"No, not now," he said with absolute certainty and with a laugh to hide the sliver of regret she might have heard in his voice if she listened hard enough.

"Good," she purred smiling with satisfaction, "Slide the seat back."

Dean obliged her and leaned back when Mari reached out to unbutton his jeans. She lifted his shirt and ran her fingernails across his taught mid-section and he grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss her fingertips. He helped her get his pants down and then, reclining the seat back as far as it would go, he settled back to see what she would do next.

Wasting no time Mari reached down and grabbed the hem of her little blue dress and quickly pulled it up over her head and smiled when his eyes widened. He licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed a lump the size of a softball that had mysteriously lodged in his throat when he realized she had nothing on underneath but a few strategically placed touches of Chanel. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her naked body. It was beyond perfection.

She stretched her arms up enticingly to release her hair and it fell in shimmering sheets to cover her shoulders and breasts and, when she leaned in to kiss him, he grabbed her by the waist and maneuvered her onto his lap facing him, her bent legs straddling his thighs.

With one hand he threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her face toward him and kissed her roughly, bruising her lips and she moaned. With his other hand he gently placed his fingers between her legs and knew she was as ready for him as he was for her.

The muscles of her thighs bunched as she rose up and he guided himself inside of her and she settled down on his length with a groan. Mari shut her eyes and they remained intimately connected for long moments. She took a deep breath as if trying to breathe in his very essence.

Dean remained still trying to think of anything but the slow undulation of the pelvic muscles surrounding him, afraid he wouldn't be able to live up to his reputation and embarrass himself in the process.

It worked until she started to fuck him like a sixteenth century courtesan, rising up until he almost slipped out of her then plunging down again hard enough to rattle her teeth.

He soon matched her sexual vigor and realized that, like him, she fucked as if she had nothing to loose.

Fearing their encounter would be over too quickly, he cautioned breathlessly as she rose up again, "Slowly, Mari, slowly. I want it to be good for you."

"It already is, Dean Winchester," she assured him with a brazen smile, "It already is."


	3. Chapter 3

A sharp rap on the Impala's window startled Dean Winchester awake to bright sunlight and total confusion. Where the hell was he, he wondered, as he turned to see the stone cold face of a deputy sheriff with nightstick poised in his ham fist ready to rap on the window again.

"What's the matter, Officer?" the hunter asked groggily as he rolled down the window, "Was I going too fast?"

"I'm sure you would have been...if you were driving. I've been trying to wake you up for a good ten minutes solid," the cop told him.

Dean looked around still not exactly sure where he had ended up. He was evidently parked in the woods, next to a lake probably on the outskirts of town. Resting his hands on the steering wheel he glanced at his wristwatch and realized it was 10:30 in the morning.

When the deputy asked for his license and registration Den held up a finger and grabbed his cell phone from the dash and quickly checked it. Twelve missed calls. Sammy must be frantic or really, really pissed, he thought, and ignoring the cop's sigh of impatience he pressed the return call button.

"Sammy," he said, waited a moment then closed his mouth with a click of his teeth and sat back to listen. "Yeah, it was a woman," he conceded to Sam's inquiry then listened silently to the rest of the speech. "Okay, okay, I'll call you if I know I'm gonna be late…or stay out all night," Dean said contritely then flipped the phone closed and smiled up at the cop. "My mom," he offered as an explanation holding up the phone, "Sam…antha."

"You're pretty long in the tooth to be out here on lover's lane, aren't you, son?" the officer asked checking the back seat for anything untoward…like drugs or a blow up doll…then added, "And to still be living at home with your mama."

"She feeds me, does my laundry, picks up my socks and underwear. How can I leave?" Dean asked handing his documents over.

Taking the proffered license and paper registration the deputy gave him a jaundiced look and thought how utterly useless Generation Xers really were. He took a cursory glance and handed them back. "Alright Mr. Geils, you haven't broken any laws that I know of but you'd best be on your way...and son…," he pointed his baton towards Deans lap, "You'd better pull up those pants before I run you in on a 314, indecent exposure."

Realizing his jeans were down around his ankles Dean gyrated until he had them back up and buttoned all the while having the good grace to blush. "Thank you, Deputy," Dean said politely and watched in his side mirror as the cop return to his cruiser and pulled back onto the dirt road leaving him behind in a cloud of dust.

The memory of Mari's face, her talented tongue licking lush red lips, appeared before his eyes and he smiled broadly. "Arrest me on a 314? How about you arrest me for being the luckiest son of a bitch in this berg."

Starting up the Impala Dean returned to the motel where Sam met him at the door looking dapper, but non too happy, in his multi-purpose, cheap, black suit.

Dean told him he looked nice but the younger Winchester would not be placated with a lame compliment from his brother and continued to complain, "You could have called," he whined sounding more and more like the nickname Dean always called him…bitch.

"Christ Sammy, I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just fell asleep," Dean explained with a sigh dropping the car keys onto the dresser top next to the lamp with the dancing ears of corn on the shade.

"Yeah, you and about six other guys this past year," Sam blurted out and pointed to his laptop.

"You find something?" Dean, thankful that the touchy subject had been so effortlessly changed, crowded in next to Sam on the bed to check the screen.

Sam turned and leaning into his brother, sniffed and proclaimed, "Chanel, Dean? Whoever she is she is not even in your league."

Dean pulled back and looked at him in amazement and wondered aloud, "How the hell do you do that?"

"The perfume? I bought an eyedropper full for Jess one Christmas. It's all I could afford.

Although he knew damn well she was, Dean asked defensively, "How do you know she's out of my league?"

"Any woman who doesn't wear Psycho by Britney Spears is out of your league," Sam explained then asked, "You gonna give me the juicy details?"

Dean thought for a second and after surmising that he'd simply passed out leaving Mari to call a cab or, God forbid, walk home in her slinky blue dress and strappy-ass slut heels he was fairly certain that she, of the Red Ram and the great tits, would have nothing more to do with his sorry ass.

He had wanted to make it good for her, to make love by the dashboard lights just like the song but he had evidently fallen asleep after banging her just once, something that hadn't happened since he was a horny teenager and he hung his head like a whipped dog and said wistfully, "It wasn't anything. Just a one nighter. I'll probably never see her again."

"That's probably a good thing because you look like crap," Sam told him.

Dean just sighed again. For having slept the night and half of the morning away his neck was stiff and his head ached and he was exhausted. But there was work to be done and he told Sam, "Let me grab a cold shower and get dressed," and he headed into the bathroom closing the door behind him.

Sam, meanwhile, returned to the laptop and expanded his search into the surrounding counties but found nothing to fit the criteria. So, whatever this outbreak was it was localized and something the Center for Disease Control needed to check out, eventually, but for now he and Dean would give them a hand.

Wiping the shower fog from the bathroom mirror Dean looked at his reflection. Sam was right. Bags, packed and ready to go, showed heavily under his eyes, as did the hickeys all along his neck. Leaning in for a closer look he could also see the scratches on his shoulders and smiled.

"And a good time was had by all," he said under his breath as he shrugged into his dress shirt and buttoned it up to his chin. He then pulled his one tie over his head and with a few minor adjustments was as ready as he'd ever be.

"What took you so long?" Sam asked as Dean finally exited the bathroom.

"Will you quit nagging, bitch?" he answered testily, "You think this bed head look comes easy? I'm here now and dressed to the eights so can it will ya."

"It's to the nines, Einstein," Sam corrected him.

"Not in this cheap ass suit, it ain't. So, how do I look?" Dean smiled charmingly but it came off almost as a grimace.

"Like Mr. Hanky…going to a funeral."

"And you are still a dick," Dean proclaimed and pushing Sam toward the door added, " Let's get this over with."


	4. Chapter 4

The hospital in downtown Avery was small, well equipped and employed an efficient and amiable staff. But as good as they were they were no match for the Winchesters.

"These people are so gullible," Dean said under his breath as they waited outside the records department.

"Dr. Hook, here are the patient records you asked for," the records girl, a cute but dumb as a box of rocks blonde, said with a smile as she dumped the stack of folders into Dean's arms. "You and Dr. John can use Dr. Whiting office for as long as you need. He's on vacation." She pointed to an office across the hallway, flipped her hair and headed back into the record's dungeon.

Dean walked into the appointed office and dumped the files on the desk. He sat down behind them and looked up at a frowning Sam.

"What?"

"Dude, I'm so picking the names next time."

"I suppose you think Phibes and Morbius are better?"

Dean snorted and turned his attention back to the files and, cracking his fingers over them and rolling his shoulders, said, "Now let's see what's been going on here in Smallville."

He opened the first folder and started to go through the sheets in search of the autopsy report, blood screens and toxicology reports.

Sam picked up the next few from the pile and took them to the couch. He perused each file, one after the other, coming up with the same results as Dean.

"I got nothing, Sammy. No West Nile, no Legionnaire's Disease, hell, not even a case of French Foreign Legionnaire's Disease."

"I know," Sam concurred, "These guys should still be alive…now and eighty years from now. They were healthy as horses except for some vague sleep disorder that was only diagnosed once they were admitted. No history of anything before that."

"Maybe that's it. I bet there are at least a hundred ways you can just up and die in your sleep," Dean said as he stood and bent backward to stretch out the kinks in the small of his back.

"Like dreaming you're falling and not waking up before you hit the ground," Sam offered.

"Or like being smothered by your brother for snoring so loud that I can't hear the dialog on the porn channel."

"Dialog?" Sam said, his eyebrows lifting.

"It's like saying you read Playboy for the articles, Sammy. I can figure out what's going on with just the picture but having the sound on gives me credibility."

Sam wanted to pound his head against the wall but instead helped gather up the files. The two of them headed back across the hall to the records office to return to files then headed back outside to the Impala.

"I'm starving. You wanna grab something?" Sam asked checking out the main drag for a restaurant as they drove through town.

"Not hungry," Dean said turning into the motel's parking lot, "and I gotta severe case of burning the candle at both ends." He left the engine running while Sam took his place behind the wheel. "I'm gonna catch some sleep and if I dream I'm flying I promise I'll wake up before I auger in," he told Sam and headed inside.

Sam watched him go and although he'd seen his brother go for days without much sleep he'd never seen it catch up to him so quickly. Shrugging he headed for a drive through to get dinner.

The drive took him all of fifteen minutes and when he got back, clutching a bag of greasy burgers and fries in one hand and balancing a cardboard tray of drinks in the other, Dean was fast asleep the TV tuned to South Park and, instead of paying him back for all the practical jokes he had played on him when he'd fallen asleep, Sam just watched Dean sleep.

Noting the dark circles under his eyes and the lines that had appeared out of nowhere to etch the corners of his brother's mouth, Sam hoped that, after their long months on the road, Dean really wasn't on his way to flaming out and auguring in. Just the sight of him made Sam sleepy and after his dinner with Cartman, Kenny, Kyle and Stan and a couple of hours of research to completely numb his mind and body he racked out only to have his brother awaken a few hours later.

Dean opened his eyes and searching the darkness slid his hand under his pillow, the smooth pearl grips of the Colt 1911 a comfort in his hand. A quick look to his left at his slumbering brother and he knew it wasn't Sam he'd not exactly heard but sensed in the room. A second later a shadowy figure moved closer.

God only knew who or what it was and when his hand emerged from beneath the pillow, the gun clutched tightly in his grip, only his sense of smell kept him from pulling the trigger.

"Mari?" he whispered into the darkness, a faint trace of her perfume on the air.

"Hello handsome", she said huskily, "I missed you."

Relief flooded through Dean and he was so pleased to see her that he didn't even think to ask how she'd found him or how she'd gotten into the room or why she had nothing on but a leather coat and the sexiest pair of red heels he'd ever seen. Frankly he really didn't care and, stripping off his t-shirt and boxers, he lifted the covers silently inviting her into his bed.

It was a standard issue cheap motel twin but he'd made due in smaller and more cramped quarters before and she was so warm and smelled delicious and her hands…oh God, and her sweet, sweet mouth.

"God, Mari," he breathed out and she bit his lip drawing blood and laughed when he cried out and looked over at Sam in panic.

"My brother..." he whispered.

"Won't hear a thing," she assured him, her hands sliding sensuously over his body.

"Then you've forgiven me for last night?" he asked, Sam all but forgotten.

"Not yet," she told him and lowered her head until her thick tumble of hair formed a cocoon around them.

She kissed him, softly this time and his eyes fluttered shut. When he opened them again Mari was standing next to the bed, her coat pulled tight and belted around her, looking down at him with a half smile on her face.

"Don't go," he whispered thickly, drowsily.

"I need to get home at a decent hour," she told him and he just laughed softly.

"There's nothing decent about you, Mari, including the hour you keep."

She smiled and blew him a kiss and left him satiated, exhausted and thankful that Sammy had never even twitched.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam, wide-awake and full of bad but strong coffee, shouted, "Dean!" as he tucked his gray tee shirt into his jeans and slipped a blue and brown plaid long sleeved shirt over it.

A small pile of clothes lay on his bed while a larger pile, items that had failed the sniff test miserably, lay on the floor.

"Dean, get your ass up. I'm down to my last pair of boxers and you can only get by with turning yours inside out for so long. So get up. It's time to hit a laundromat."

Grabbing the shirt that lay discarded on Dean's bed Sam intend to throw it at his brother's head but stopped and held it up to his nose instead.

"Son of a bitch," he said under his breath, "You went out last night didn't you…but when?"

Dean must have waited until Sam had shoved his nightmares into the closet and fallen into his usual fitful sleep before heading out. But his brother must have made a short night of it because every time Sam had awakened during the night Dean had been slack jawed, drooling as he snored to beat the band.

"Dean! Last chance to hit an Avery hotspot," Sam tried again but his brother never moved a muscle.

Taking matters into his own hands Sam dumped the contents of Dean's backpack unceremoniously onto the top of his pile and, after stripping the pillowcase from his pillow, proceeded to shove everything inside.

Grabbing the car keys he then scraped all of Dean's change off the dresser top and headed out the door with a warning, "Don't blame me if all your underwear comes back pink."

The Impala was out front exactly where he'd left it, which Sam thought odd. Maybe Dean had walked to the local bar but that would have been a hike of at least a mile because Avery was smack in the middle of the Bible belt and pretty much dry inside the town limits. Maybe Chanel had stopped by to pick him up. Shrugging his shoulders he threw the offensive bag of dirty clothes in the back seat and dropped into the driver's seat to head for the nerve center of town, the Suds and Duds.

Dumping the contents of his makeshift duffel bag onto a folding table Sam started in on the task of separating the whites from the colors and after a few minutes looked up and saw three young girls, their faces pressed up against the window. Glancing behind him he realized they were gawking at him and suddenly he could only think of Winkin', Blinkin' and Nod and he smiled.

Taking it as an invitation Avery's only Goths, dressed in baggie black shorts and black tees and sporting the requisite black hair, fingernails and lipstick to match, squealed and rushed the door of the Laundromat. Crowding around him their teen angst and melancholia quickly gave way to pubescent hormonal interest in him and the Impala.

"Is that your car? The black one?" Winkin' wanted to know.

"Yeah," Sam said as he continued to sort, "'67 Chevy Impala."

"Ith's awesome. Will you take uth for a ride?" Blinkin' asked.

Sam stopped momentarily and stared at her lips and cheeks, puffed out as if she had something hidden in her mouth, kind of like a chipmunk. "Ah, I don't think that'd be such a good idea."

"Can we just sit in it then?"

It was Winkin' again and, not wanting to be thought of as a total dick, Sam blamed his reluctance to let them in the car on Dean.

"I'd really like to but it's my brother's car and he'd kill me if anything happened to it. He's kind of a douche."

"We get it," Blinkin' lisped concurring with him, "Brothers are **thuch** a drag."

And Nod. We'll, she just nodded.

"What do you girls do for fun?" Sam asked as he stuffed the first of many loads into the nearest washing machine.

"Séances, photographing ghosts in the graveyard at night, stuff like that," Winkin gushed excitedly.

"I see. Anything weird going on in the underworld here in town?" Sam asked Winkin, who seemed to be the spokesgoth for the trio.

"You mean besides the fact that Janie got her dad's okay to buy vampire fangs...provided she used her own babysitting money?"

Blinkin' opened her mouth to show him her elongated porcelain canines and Sam knew she wasn't a chipmunk hording nuts for the winter but a "vampire".

"Dr. Crawford made 'em. Heth's the only dentistht in town who would and he gave me a thmokin' deal," Blinkin' lisped not quite used to the dental prosthetic.

"I'm getting some as soon as my braces come off," Nod finally chimed in.

"Awesome! Money well spent," Sam assured them.

Fangs momentarily forgotten, Winkin' suddenly became serious and squinted one eye at him. "There is something else," she told him, "There's been a marked drop in the number of hot guys over on campus, some kind of sleeping sickness or something."

Marked drop? Sam thought the girls definitely watched way too much television but maybe they did have some information he could use. "Did any of them ever talk about their experiences before they got sick? Where they went? Who they hung out with?"

Winkin's lip curled at what she considered weird questions and Sam covered quickly.

"Pre-Med," he explained and they nodded sagely.

"My dad's a doctor at the hospital and the only thing they came up with was that they all hung out at the Red Ram. But everybody hangs out there. It's kind of a dump but it's the only place in the county you can get hammered," Winkin' told him.

"Hammered, huh?"

"As thoon ath we're eighteen, we're there," Blinkin' assured him.

Nod just giggled.

"Well, we gotta go. There's a mixer at the church and we gotta change. Our moms only let us dress like this if we're going someplace where they don't know anybody," Winkin' told him.

"I'm hip," he said as they headed toward the door, "Have a good time and, girls, stay out of the graveyard at night. And don't get in cars with strangers, no matter how sweet the ride is. I mean it."

Winkin' and Blinkin' broke out in gales of laughter but Nod just looked him dead in the eyes and, unsmiling, nodded one time.

Shaking his head Sam just smiled and went back to stuffing the machines


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was awake when Sam got back to the motel, awake and sitting at a small table with nothing on but a towel, his father's journal open in front of him.

"I can't find anything in here," he said randomly and closed the book quickly, a guilty look on his face.

Sam pulled the freshly laundered and neatly folded clothes from the pillowcase and laid them out on the bed. "Looking for these?" he asked and sailed a pair of Dean's boxers through the air this time hitting him in the head.

Dropping the towel where he stood Dean stepped into his shorts and pulled a pair of jeans from the bottom of the pile while the rest of the stack tumbled onto the floor. Fishing a black t-shirt from the mound he finished dressing.

"You are such a slob," Sam told him.

"Makes me endearing as hell," Dean countered but there was another reason for his lack of regard for his laundry.

Dean Winchester simply refused to put his clothes in motel room dressers and instead lived out of his backpack or a suitcase. He couldn't bring himself to make any of the crappy rooms they were forced to stay in into a home away from home because to do so would be making an irrevocable admission of what, in essence, had already come to pass. He would never have a real home, a family of his own or a normal life.

In addition with a very small footprint made up of mostly weapons of mayhem he could pick up and go at a moments notice. Having never made one particular shit-hole a base of operation he could also never be caught off guard by anyone...with the exception of maybe Mari. She seemed to have found him, breached his sanctuary, caught him completely by surprise and rocked his world…a little fact he would not tell Sam.

"I've got one place for us to check out. It's called the Red Ram," Sam told him placing his clean clothes neatly in the dresser drawer, "You know the place?"

"Yeah, I checked it out when we first got here," Dean admitted sheepishly.

"Anything?" Sam wanted to know.

"I checked it out for beer and babes, Sam," Dean replied tersely.

"I think we should check it out for something else," Sam said looking at his brother with a jaundiced eye.

"What else is there?" Dean asked in all seriousness as they left the motel room.

Twenty minutes later as the Impala rounded the corner the bar, in all its glory, came into view. Taking it all in Sam thought the sign above the door should say 'Red Rum' instead of Red Ram.

"Winkin' was right," Sam said softly to himself as they pulled into the parking lot, "This place is a dump."

Dean turned to Sam and repeated with a curled lip, "Winkin'?"

"A girl I met at the Laundromat."

"Way to go Sammy," Dean said recalling some of his many conquests, each one starting with a pile of dirty clothes.

"She's one of the town's Goth slash vampires and is all of about thirteen maybe," Sam told Dean and watched as his brother's eyebrows lifted in surprise, "Her Dad's a doctor at the hospital and she says this place is the only common factor...and she thinks you're a douche."

Dean, taking great offense, reminded him, "She's never even met me. And you're the one hanging out with the baby Twitard."

"Don't push it, bro, she gave you the benefit of the doubt," Sam told him as they got out of the car.

The Ram was only slightly less crowded on a Sunday night. Dean scanned the crowd as soon as they entered but Mari was nowhere to be seen. One of the bar's many waitresses now occupied the table near the kitchen as she reconciled her order slips.

Dean grabbed a vacant table and sat down heavily while Sam headed to the bar returning a few minutes later with two longnecks. Dean took his beer and turned to check out the dance floor.

"Is she here?" Sam asked taking a hit off of his Bud.

"Who?" Dean asked innocently enough.

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Ms Chanel."

Busted, Dean turned back to his brother and shook his head, took a long pull on his beer and belched.

Dean's refusal to add anything further than the disgusting bodily function brought Sam's fishing expedition to a quick end and, unsettled by the drawn out silence between them, he pulled the EMF meter from his jacket pocket. Keeping it out of sight under the table's edge he turned it on. It pulsed green.

"You think we'll get any readings in here?" he asked to break the silence.

"Only raging hormones, I'm guessing," Dean offered, his mind clearly not in the game.

"Well, I'm gonna to take a look around."

"Happy hunting," Dean wished him and settled back in his chair to wait.

Ten minutes later Sam was back and took his seat where a fresh beer waited on the table in front of him.

"Anything?" Dean yawned rubbing his forehead with his fingers then raking his palm down over his face.

"Just a flicker, like residual evil, nothing ingrained in the building."

"So no dead, malevolent, long-wind professors who might have bored these guys to death?" Dean asked turning his head toward the door again.

"Nope," Sam assured him, "and I didn't see anyone in here who's totally out of your league. Real close but not totally."

Dean turned around, put his elbows on the table and leaned in.

"That's just it, Sammy. She's way out of my league but it doesn't seem to matter to her."

Mari was a class act, beautiful, rich and sophisticated but not above banging him in a car. She was hedonistic, to say the least, and he had the feeling she would be perfectly at home rolling around on silk sheets in a mansion or rolling around in the gutter and he wanted to hook up with her again, maybe somewhere in between.

"You are endearing in a disgusting sort of way," Sam said as a possible explanation for the woman's interest in his brother.

Dean smiled wistfully and told Sam, "Well, if we don't come up with anything more than the nothing we already have, we'll be long gone and I'll just be a fond memory."

"You think all these deaths may be nothing more than a coincidence?"

"I don't believe in coincidence, Sammy," Dean said with finality setting his bottle on the table and scrubbing his hand down his face again. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and the whites were red.

Sam saw his brother's weariness and suggested, "There's nothing here. Let's book."

Not wanting to cramp Sam's style, or lack there of, Dean suggested, "All work and no play makes Sammy a dull, frustrated, zit prone, hairy palmed boy."

Ignoring the comment Sam insisted, "It's the feeling we're missing the obvious here that frustrates me. I'm checking out the college tomorrow."

"Knock yourself out."

Dog-tired after only two beers, Dean and felt like hammered dog shit but if Sam wanted to chase down wild geese, then more power to him. Glancing toward the table he and Mari had shared they got up and started making their way to the entrance.

As they passed by the bar the red headed pixie working it waved and said, "See you in the morning, Sam."

Dean smiled. "At least the hormone meter was working," he said and shoved Sam toward the door.


	7. Chapter 7

It was dark in the motel room with only the demon red glow of the clock radio LED numbers shining from the bedside table. It was 1:09 am and Dean checked to make sure Sammy was asleep before he opened the motel room door and stepped out into the warm summer night. Mari waited for him under the blinking red neon sign letting weary travelers know there were vacancies at the Korn King Motel.

Dean couldn't remember calling her or her calling him but there she was dressed in red leather, leaning against a 1965 Shelby Cobra Mustang GT-350 painted Wimbledon White with Dark Blue Le Mans racing stripes. The whole effect was like a patriotic wet dream.

He walked to the Mustang ignoring her completely as he circled around the vehicle and ran his hands lovingly over the satin smooth finish.

"289 cubic inch Windsor V8?" he asked.

"Yep," she replied.

Chills ran down his spine as asked, "Cobra valve covers?"

"Naturally."

Dean closed his eyes and whispered reverently, "Yessss."

"Holley carburetor?" was his next question.

"Uh huh," was he next answer.

Dean stared at her for a moment then, with a smirk, dared her to answer this one correctly. "Trunk mounted battery?"

"Of course," she said with a lift of one elegant eyebrow.

Dean was in heaven. "One of only 526 ever built?"

"A competition unit actually," she told him.

Dean whistled as he stood next to automobile greatness. "Jesus, one of only 34."

"Want to drive it?" she then asked.

Dean couldn't help himself and got hard just thinking about it. "Oh, you know I do," he said and actually noticed her for the first time.

He leaned in and kissed her and either her skintight outfit or his proximity to the Mustang made him weak in the knees. "You look amazing by the way" he said and opened the driver's side door for her.

Mari knew full well she did and as she slid across the seat her leather skirt rode up letting him catch a glimpse of virginal white lace garters while her jacket was unzipped so low that there was no missing the lacey white bra.

Dean climbed in and started the powerful engine and Rob Zombie's 'Living Dead Girl' blasted out of the speakers as the car tried to lunge ahead each time he revved it.

"This thing is a friggin' beast," he marveled then turned to her and asked, "Where to, baby?"

"Let's take her out to the highway so you can really open her up," Mari purred and rested her head against his shoulder. "I'll put you through your paces later," she added staring at the motel room door as they left the parking lot, the throaty rumble of the engine fading into the distance.

Sam rolled over in his bed and stared at the alarm clock's glowing numbers. It was 1:09 am, still at least four hours until he could get up, make some coffee and some noise and not get hit in the head by a flying boot or some other object. His brother had been asleep since they'd gotten back from the Red Ram and should be well rested when he finally did wake up so maybe he wouldn't be such a jerk.

Sam slammed his fist into his pillow to soften it up then laid his head down again and sighed. Closing his eyes he thought he'd give anything to be able to sleep as soundly as his brother but slumber continued to elude him that night as it did almost every other.

"Dean, wake up. We need to check out the old newspaper records and they're on microfiche at the library." For getting very little sleep the night before Sam was amazed at how perky he sounded and hoped it drove his brother nuts.

"Get away from me, Sammy," Dean said throwing his arm over his eyes and barley moving his mouth to enunciate.

"I'm doing this for you, bro. The sooner we find out if there's a hunt here or not the sooner we can either get down to business or outta Dodge."

"Leave me alone," Dean mumbled again and turned his head to look at Sam through bleary eyes, "I was up all night screwing the hottest babe I have ever met and I'm not going anywhere but back to sleep, especially not to the frigging library!"

"Yeah right, you effing tweaker."

"What is your problem, man?" Dean wanted to know, "I made sure you were all nice and tucked in before I left."

"Dude, you so did not go out last night!"

"Cut the crap, Sammy," Dean said menacingly, "before I twist your head off."

Sam was about to laugh but saw that Dean wasn't kidding…about going out the night before or about twisting his head off. "Okay, you went out," Sam conceded, "What time?"

"Around one."

"I was awake at one and you were right there in that bed!" Sam pointed to the bed for emphasis.

Fed up, Dean asked, "How's your head been lately, Sammy? Sometimes I think you're one loose screw away from coming unhinged altogether."

Dean's words cut like a knife and Sam wondered briefly if he was wrong about last night. He decided not a chance in hell. "Screw you, Dean. One of us _is_ crazy and it ain't me!" Sam shouted. He opened the door to leave then stopped to reiterate loudly, "You never left this room!"

"Stop trying to gaslight me, Sammy. I'm not in the mood," Dean warned and closed his eyes again effectively putting an end to his part of the argument.

"Whatever," Sam said angrily slamming the door behind him.

"God damned pain in my ass," Dean said testily and added, for his benefit only, "And I could give two shits if you never come back."


	8. Chapter 8

Not only did Dean Winchester now give two shits about Sam returning, he gave three. He was fucked up and he was fucked and, like the old lady on the TV ad, he'd fallen and he couldn't get up.

Long after Sam had gone he had finally gotten up out of the bed intent on emptying his bladder but his legs had absolutely refused to hold his weight and instead of taking a leak he'd taken a header into the stinking, green shag carpet between the beds. As he lay there in the stillness of the room he knew he was alone. Sam still hadn't returned from the library after their dust up and was probably pissed at him or maybe he was hot on the trail of the flu bug that had evidently sneaked up and bitten Dean in the ass.

He tried to get up again and could only rise up onto his forearms. It was then that he noticed the blood as big, fat drops hit the carpet in front of him. When he lifted his head higher a rivulet of blood traveled down his face, into one eye, down his cheek and finally down his chin. So much for coming through unscathed, he thought, and laughed lamely.

He'd whacked his head on something and was bleeding profusely and, to top it off, he was pretty sure he was going to throw up. He took a few deep breaths to try and quell the nausea but to no avail and he rolled half-way over awkwardly and puked up his guts.

"Christ on a crutch," he cursed under his breath and rested his head on the rug, his cheek just left of the disgusting puddle.

He tried to lift his head again and the room continued to spin. Any other time he would have enjoyed the sensation but the smell of his vomit permeated the room and ruined it for him. Dean closed his eyes and a few minutes later the door opened and Sam came in, his nose buried in a local newspaper, a large Coke in his hand.

Stopping in his tracks Sam noticed that the room, instead of smelling like standard motel room ass, smelled like puke. He spotted Dean stretched out on the floor and dropped the Coke to squat down between the beds.

He touched his brother's back gently and heard him say, "Sammy, I think I'm in big trouble here."

Dean Winchester hated to admit to weakness of any kind but at that moment he was pretty sure he needed his brother's help.

"Fuck! Let me get a towel and try and stop the bleeding," Sam said but before he could get up Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed.

Bending down to look him in the eyes Sam asked, "Hospital?" It was just a one-word question and when Dean nodded his head Sam's heart turned in his chest.

Dean Winchester, macho man, would never agree to help of any kind if he thought he could tough it out and his ready acquiescence to go to a hospital scared the hell out of him. Sam reached up and snagged a discarded t-shirt from his bed and wrapped it haphazardly around Dean's head. He then grabbed his brother's arm and tried to get enough leverage to get him to his feet but felt only a hundred eighty pounds of dead weight.

Dean had passed out and Sam slipped his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911. He then sat down next to his brother to keep pressure on the gash in his scalp and to wait.

They didn't have long to wait and when the ambulance arrived at the emergency room Dean was immediately taken into a triage room. It had helped that he'd still been bleeding like a stuck pig.

"What happened here? You two frat boys rough housing or did you double dog dare him to do something stupid?"

Sam, who had been standing next to the bed in the ER examination room, jumped about a foot and dropped his backpack to the floor. Despite being an imposing black woman weighing over 200 pounds the duty nurse had sneaked up and scared the crap out of him.

"No, Ma'am. That's my brother. He just collapsed and hit his head on the bed frame," Sam said and moved out of her way, "And you don't really have to even single dog dare him to do something stupid."

"He a member of the "I thought it was a good idea at the time" club?" she asked as she prepared Dean for a CT scan.

"Charter member," Sam said remaining close but giving her plenty of room as she went about her business.

She removed Dean's watch and ring and picking up the amulet that was around his neck she lifted his head and slipped it off.

"What's this hoodoo?" she demanded as she looked at the amulet and held it up for Sam to see.

"It's just a...just something he wears." Not really hoodoo in the true sense, Sam knew only that Bobby Singer had given it to him to give to his father for Christmas one year but he'd ended up giving it to his brother instead.

"I grew up in New Orleans and this stuff don't fly up here in God's country," she warned him, "But if he feels he needs it you hang onto it for him. Can't hurt."

She grabbed Sam's hand and slapped Dean's personal effects into his palm and closed his fingers around them. "Just collapsed, huh? He doesn't smell like beer, more like perfume."

"He's been kind of…ah, busy…since we got to town."

"Uh, huh," Nurse Hoodoo said nodding her head knowingly as she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Dean's arm.

"He's spent more time in bed here..." Sam started to explain then stopped, his mouth hanging open, when she stopped what she was doing and just stared at him. "Sleeping! He's spent more time sleeping since we go here than he's ever done before."

"And you didn't think that was unusual?" she asked him with a jaundiced stare.

"More than you know," Sam answered honestly.

"We've had five, maybe six, young men pass right here in this very hospital from some kind of sleeping sickness," she told him then added when she saw the look on his face, "But I'm sure your brother is gonna be just fine. Now you get! The doctor's coming to examine him and put some stitches in that hard head of his."

Relieved to have Nurse Hoodoo tending to Dean, Sam smiled. He could return to the waiting area knowing she would stand vigil, taking on all comers, until Dean was either admitted or discharged. Forty-five minutes later he was admitted.


	9. Chapter 9

Clancy Donovan, red headed pixie, waited patiently for Sam in front of the diner, a paper cup of coffee in her hand. She handed it to him and stepped back to admire him in his black suit. "Wow, you clean up good," she told him, "Not that you look bad in jeans."

Sam took the proffered coffee and smiled half-heartedly and explained, "I'm sorry I'm so late. It's my brother. He's in the hospital and I think he's got whatever killed the others."

"Oh, no!" Clancy said and placed her hand on his arm and squeezed, "I'm so sorry."

"He'll be alright," Sam assured her but the words sounded hollow, even to him, as they walked toward the college. "What do you think about what's goin' on here?"

"I think it's pretty messed up. The college has kind of hushed it all up. Said it's been all kinds of things like Legionnaire's Disease, West Nile, even a bite from a tsetse fly, so no one would panic. But I gotta tell you, I'm a little scared."

"It's strange but it seems to have only affected guys so far so it's unlikely it was any of the above. Everybody's at risk with Legionnaires and from mosquitoes...and a tsetse fly? Get real."

They crossed the quad in the center of the college grounds and walked up the asphalt path toward the red brick administration building.

"Did you call Mari to let her know your brother's sick?" Clancy asked him.

"Mari?"

"My boss. I saw them together a couple of nights ago and she's been smiling ever since."

"Your boss?"

"At the bar. She owns the Red Ram. She's maybe thirty and owns the biggest cash cow in Porter County. There's no lack of fine upstanding Christian drinkers here in Avery."

Sam thought back to when they'd first met, when he'd ordered beers at the bar, and asked her, "You like working there?"

"It's okay. With tips I make enough to pay my tuition, room and board and them some."

"What's this Mari like? If she's who I'm thinkin' of Dean seems to think she's out of his league."

"She's out of everybody's league. Expensive cars, designer clothes, huge house on the hill," Clancy told him, "She's a decent enough boss but...how can I say this? I know. If Mari was in that movie Gladiator she'd be 'Sluttius Maximus'."

Sam inhaled his coffee and choked out, "Tell me how you really feel about her, Clancy."

"I see her leaving the bar with different guys all the time. I'm not jealous or anything but all she has to do is look at a dude and they turn into complete morons."

"That'd be Dean," he told her then asked, "Did you see her leaving with any of the guys who died?"

"Yeah, maybe, things get so rushed in there I can't really remember, except for your brother. She left with him on Friday night."

"When does she usually get to the bar?"

"I never know. She comes and goes whenever she pleases."

"I need to get back to the hospital as soon as we're done here but I'll stop by later tonight...and Clancy," he said with a grin, "You've got no reason to be jealous."

It was a sweet thing to say but Clancy could see the writing on the wall. If Sam Winchester was going to the Red Ram to meet with Mari it would only take five minutes and his IQ would bottom out at around 60. She sighed as Sam held the large wooden door of the admin building for her as they went inside to check the college records.

Across town Mari walked into Dean Winchester's hospital room like she owned the place completely surprising the young hunter. She was dressed in an incredibly short, green silk dress and her long hair hung down past her waist, loose, the way he liked it. Dean had heard that a man's insecurity was in direct proportion to the length of his woman's hair and, running-scared caveman that he was, he only wished he could wrap it in his fists and pull her to him the way he had before he'd crashed and burned. "I didn't think you'd find me here in the hospital."

Whatever was kicking his ass seem neither to affect Mari nor quell her insatiable appetite. And Sammy, the goob, hadn't so much as sneezed since Dean had come down with the mysterious illness.

"You didn't think I'd come? Poor baby, don't be silly," she cooed sexily.

Relief flooded through Dean and made him feel as if he were floating. The crushing pressure that, moments before, had made it hard for him to breath left his chest as she locked the door and pulled the curtain around the bed. Her smile was soft, her hand cool to his fevered skin as she caressed his ashen face. She bent to kiss the stitches on his head then slipped her hand under the covers to cup him.

"God, Mari," he said with a laugh, "You're like the mailman. Neither snow nor rain or diagnosis unknown can keep you from your appointed rounds."

Leaving her Giorgia Galassi jeweled sandals on the floor next to the bed she climbed in to lie beside him. He wanted to turn to her, to wrap his arms around her but he was so weak he couldn't pull it off.

She hugged him instead and murmured, "Now tell me what's wrong, baby."

"Besides falling and splitting my head open like a ripe melon?" She looked at him, an exaggerated look of sympathy on her face and he admitted readily, "I don't know what's wrong with me. Neither do the doctors. I can't eat, I can barely walk and all I want to do is sleep." He glanced at the IV bottle hung up next to his bed and the tube stuck into his hand, "They hooked me up to this goop so I'd at least get fluids but it's a bitch dragging that thing around behind me to the can."

"I'll make it all better for you, sweetheart," Mari promised with a wicked grin on her face.

"Aren't you afraid someone will walk in on us?" he asked knowing exactly what her cure would be.

"That's half the fun, don't you think?" she laughed and caressed him again

Dean's eyes rolled and he moaned. "You are an evil woman." She began to move her hand up and down and before he could come to his senses he blurted out, "God Mari, I love you so much."

A pleased smile crossed her lips and she told him, "I know you do, baby. Now you just lie there and let me make it all better."

Mari always took care of everything and, if he wasn't such a male chauvinist piggy, his pride might have been sorely dented but, as it was, he was content to just lie there and take everything she dished out and more.

Dean's hospital room was just as Sam had left it but instead of the antiseptic smell of hospital strength disinfectant the room smelled like perfume... and sex. The memory of the day he'd given Jess the small vile of Chanel crossed his mind's eye and he quickly shut it out. His brother lay as before, deep purple bruises beneath his closed eyes, chest barely rising and falling, the monitor blipping lethargically, his heart rate and blood pressure so low that the nurses, already certain of the outcome, barely checked on him.

Sam, sure that there was no way in hell Dean could have taken one for the team, chalked the olfactory kick in the gut to his inability to block out every single solitary memory of Jessica Moore and he walked to the end of the bed and stared down at his brother. "You look liked death warmed over, man," he whispered, "And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it short of…" No, he wouldn't go there. Although many vowed they would sell their soul to the devil to save a loved one Sam actually believed he could…and liked to think that he would. "What's wrong with you?" he then asked aloud.

"I'll tell you what's wrong with him," Nurse Hoodoo said coming up behind him and scaring the hell out of him yet again.

"Jes…." Sam started but she cut him short.

"Don't you blaspheme," she warned and wagged a finger at him.

"Sorry ma'am," he apologized.

She quickly let him off the hook and smiled. "Sam Winchester, you were raised up right but this one, hah." Bustling around Dean's bed she straightened the covers and checked to see if his IV was still securely attached and continued, "He had the audacity to sneak that girlfriend of his in here. Locked the door and pulled the curtain around this very bed and God only knows what they were up to all that time; over and over again."

Sam looked at his brother's peaceful face and wanted to knock some sense into him, that particular course of action fast becoming his life's mission. "You bas…," he began then though better of it when Nurse Hoodoo spoke up.

"Sammy," she warned.

"I'm just surprised, that's all," Sam admitted, "He told me he hooked up with someone here in town but the two of them...in a hospital bed?"

"This boy shouldn't be "hooked up" to anything but these machines. It's a wonder he didn't pass on like those other poor unfortunate boys."

"Have you ever seen her here before?" Sam asked.

"The girlfriend? I ain't _never_ seen anybody like her before, here or anyplace else. Just breezed in here in her fancy clothes like it was her hospital, came directly to this room, did her thing I'm guessin', then breezed on out, never saying a word to anyone."

Dean didn't look any the worse for wear, couldn't look any worse in fact, but Sam thought it best to set some ground rules. "I'll ask the doctor to leave orders at the nurse's desk for no visitors. Then I'm going to pay Dean's girlfriend a visit and tell her to stay away from him."

"Good luck with that," Nurse Hoodoo snorted, "I don't think that woman's used to doing anything she's told."


	10. Chapter 10

The Red Ram was relatively quiet when Sam walked in looking for the elusive Mari and, surprised to see her working behind the bar, he walked up and took a seat. Clancy's physical description of her didn't do her justice, he thought, and would have to get back to her on the slut thing.

"What'll you have?" Mari asked clearing away a longneck bottle left by the prior occupant of the barstool.

"I'll have whatever Dean has."

Mari stopped and took a good look at him, a tentative smile on her face and when she recognized the family resemblance she smiled full on and Sam almost fell off of his stool. "Comin' right up," she said and reached up to the top shelf.

Sam watched her perfect ass as she pulled down the bottle of Jameson and poured him a good measure then placed the glass in front of him. He started to reach into his pocket for his wallet but she stopped him.

"It's on the house..." she said pausing for a name.

"Sam, Sam Winchester. Dean's brother."

"Pleased to meet you, Sam Winchester," she told him and she meant it, "I had no idea Dean had a brother."

Figures, Sam thought sourly picking up his glass.

Mari leaned forward, her elbows on the bar, her cleavage threatening to spill out of her sheer designer blouse. "I hope Dean's feeling better."

"Actually, he's in pretty bad shape. Practically on death's door," Sam said testily, "and a booty call was probably the last thing he needed."

Mari has the good grace to blush and, at a loss for words, stuttered, "I... I..."

She looked so crestfallen that Sam immediately regretted his sharp words. "Listen, I'm sorry," he said and took a sip of the Jameson and tried not to grimace, "I'm just worried about him."

"I can understand," she said and came out from behind the bar. Taking his hand said, "Come, sit with me." She led him to the staff table where she took the whiskey from him. "It's an acquired taste." Replacing the whiskey with a beer she leaned over his shoulder to set the bottle in front of him, her perfume as subtle as a kick to the groin.

Sam smiled and took a pull on the bottle while she settled into the opposite seat and asked, "How can I help you, Sam Winchester?"

Good question, he thought, taking another pull. He'd come to the Red Ram ready to give her a piece of his mind but after being with her for not quite five minutes he was ready to give her all of it. Sam Winchester, instant idiot, just add a beautiful woman and stir. "I guess I just came here to tell you to quit picking on my big brother," he admitted laughing.

She smiled sympathetically and reached out and touched his hand. "I know you're worried about him and that's very commendable in this day and age. Families aren't close anymore. I haven't spoken to any of my relatives in ages."

"Dean's all I have left and I don't know what I'd do if something were to happen to him."

"What about your mother? Your father?"

"Both dead," he told her. Her eyes opened wide in shock and Sam surmised correctly, "Dean didn't tell you anything about himself, did he?"

"After getting to know him he seems a tad shallow. More of a party animal than someone who'd share his feelings...or his life story," she suggested then added, "Maybe spending all that time working on his master's degree has kept him from forming anything but superficial attachments."

Sam nearly choked on his beer but swallowed hard before it could shoot out his nose. "He told you he was working on his masters?"

"At Stanford."

"He is such a shit. I go...went to Stanford. Pre-law. Dean _maybe_ passed his GED."

"I see," Mari said and looked at him with disappointment in her eyes, "I wonder what else he's told me that's not exactly true?"

"There's no telling with Dean. He's quite the crapmeister." Why was he being such a bitch Sam wondered then realized he was jealous, jealous and pissed. Mari was a beautiful woman and Dean shouldn't have scored with her using _his_ stats.

But Mari threw him a bone when she said, "Maybe I chose the wrong brother."

The hit was so obvious he almost flinched but he loved it. "Dean has some fine qualities," Sam pointed out to her although demon whacking wouldn't exactly turn a girls head...unless she was said demon.

"He's quite handsome but I'm looking for more than just eye candy."

"He's house broken," Sam then told her and she threw back her head and laughed.

"That's what I like about you Winchesters, you make me laugh."

"So Mari, if you're not after a stud muffin like Dean, just what are you looking for?" he asked and at the same time couldn't quite believe he had.

She leaned forward and looked him in the eye and sucked him right in, "Actually, right now I'm looking for a lawyer."

"Can't help you there," he said feeling a twinge of regret, "Didn't even come close to passing the bar."

"That doesn't matter. I just have a contract I'd like you to look over, as a favor to me. I'm buying another bar in Oregon and I need to know if I'm getting screwed," she said, the emphasis on the word screwed.

Sam did believe Mari got 'screwed'...a lot...but didn't believe for a second that anyone could ever take advantage of her. It was something about her eyes. They were the eyes of a man-eater.

"I have all the paper work at my house. We could work there," she suggested and, if he hadn't been so worried about Dean, he would have followed her home right then and there and let her keep him, like a lost puppy.

"I need to get back to the hospital," he told her, "but I can come by tomorrow." And while it wouldn't lead to a renewed interest in his law degree, it could lead to a would be lawyer's wildest sexual fantasy, making love on a table covered with contracts and deeds of trust.

"I understand completely," she told him, "Tomorrow would be perfect."

"You can count on it," he promised and got up to leave, "Thanks for the beer."

"Don't mention it, Sam Winchester," she said and waved as he went out the door.

"So much for the concerned girl friend," he muttered as he walked to the Impala. "No 'Tell Dean, I'll be by to see him later', no 'Send him my love" and, if she was honest, not even a 'Tell Dean to kiss my ass 'cause I'm hunting you now, Sammy'.

When he got back to town Sam would tell Clancy that he'd met her boss and she was everything that she had said she was. He wouldn't tell Dean about meeting her at all.


	11. Chapter 11

That evening Sam walked into Dean's hospital room and went into full on panic mode when he saw the two nurses and the doctor surrounding Dean's bed. The crash cart stood near by, its various items pulled out and strewn across the bed. Where was Nurse Hoodoo? he wondered as he stood and stared like an idiot. She would never let all those people near his brother and was just about to confront them all when someone took his arm from behind and he nearly jumped out of his skin...again.

"You startled me," he said, a sheepish grin on his face that turned quickly to a frown, "What's goin' on?"

Before she could tell him Nurse Hoodoo leaned in and sniffed his neck and said in a low voice overflowing with condemnation, "Your brother's been hovering between the here and now and the great beyond and you've been out tom catin' 'round. You disappoint me, Sammy."

"It's not what you think," Sam said in his defense then practically begged, "Please, tell me what's going on?"

"About twenty minutes ago your brother sort of crashed."

"Sort of?" Sam said and was going to add 'What the fuck!' but knew she wouldn't hesitate to smack him.

"They brought him 'round and he's stable for now," she assured him then asked, "Has your brother ever had a heart problem before?"

Meaning he was having one now? Sam opened his mouth but nothing came out. Where could he possibly begin?

She didn't want to scare him any more than she already had and tried to explain what had happened so Sam wouldn't be left to imagine the worst, although what she had to say was pretty bad.

"Bradycardia arrhythmia. His poor heart started beating so slowly that not enough blood was being pumped out of it. That set the monitors off and all hell broke loose in here," she told him and the look of pain on Sam's face was so heart wrenching that she wanted to hug him.

Of course it was against hospital regulations so she led him to one of the chairs in the room and gently pushed him down into it instead. "They shot him full of Epinephrine and he came right out of it but his PEA, the electrical activity of his heart, is inadequate so his heart's having trouble contracting."

"Do they know what's causing it? Can they operate?"

"I'm afraid not, honey. As weak as he is the cure would probably kill him."

There was nothing else she could say to the boy so she just squeezing his shoulder and returned to Dean's bedside. The other staff members left soon thereafter and she began to pick up the area in silence then, she too, left Sam alone in the room. He stood up and walked over to Dean's bed and stared down at him.

It was now well past visiting hours and Sam was exhausted. His head ached and his eyes burned but he would keep a watchful eye on his brother for the remainder of the night. First he just needed to rest his eyes, just for a few minutes, and he lay down on the other bed in the room and crashed out.

Dean smelled her perfume and opened his eyes. The room was dark and the steadily beeping monitors cast an eerie glow over his ravaged face, his eyes sunken, harsh lines etched around his mouth.

"Mari," he whispered hoarsely.

"Sam told me you took a turn for the worse," she said as she sat demurely on the chair beside his bed. Her fingers danced lightly through his hair but she made no move to go any further, just looked at him her eyes suddenly cold. Dean Winchester was so close to death she didn't have to do anything more. Time would be the reaper.

"Yeah, he was pretty worried," he said and looked up at her a frown suddenly creasing his brow, "You met Sam?"

Mari smiled and for a fraction of a second Dean thought he could see her skull beneath her flawless skin. The doctors said he might hallucinate and he was evidently a textbook case.

"He came into the Ram to chastise me for taking advantage of you...in your delicate condition. He's worried about you."

"He should be because when i get outta here I'm gonna give him a beat down for trying to move in on you."

"Don't be absurd. You didn't think I'd stay with you, did you?" Mari asked incredulously.

"But you said that you loved me," Dean countered and she just laughed at him.

He thought back and couldn't recall her ever really saying that she loved him. Sure, they had incredible hot, steaming sex but…. Oh God, he'd turned into one of those "women"who thought lust was love. He'd dated his fair share of them and they couldn't wait to change him from the bad boy, who'd attracted them in the first place, to the man they thought he should be. Not someone who spent his life searching for things that went bump in the night and blasting them into the netherworld without remorse but a successful upstanding citizen. In other words they really wanted someone like Sammy.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a brother?" Mari asked inspecting her nails absentmindedly.

"Because I knew you'd be more interested in him than me...but he's not your type, Mari," he told her, desperation seeping into his argument, "A real geek. A straight A student."

"I think intelligent men are quit attractive. I understand _he_ went to Stanford," she said caustically

That one really hurt and, as she stood to go, Dean realized that she was done with him both physically and emotionally and if he'd had the strength to get up out of the bed he would have followed after her begging her to stay. As it was he was ramping up to go into full on panic mode as he lay trapped by his own weakness.

"Sam would never snipe my woman." he insisted, "He's my brother for Christ's sake. Honorable, a stand up guy. He's nothing like me. I could have banged any one of his girlfriends and he wouldn't have done a thing, wouldn't have fought me at all." Stopping to catch his breath Dean tried but found he couldn't stop bad mouthing or backstabbing his brother, "He won't fight for you either, Mari. He'll let you die just like he let his girlfriend die."

As soon as the words left his mouth Dean Winchester felt like a real prick. Sammy wasn't a fighter and the crack about him letting Jessica Moore die; well Sam couldn't have saved her anymore than his dad could save their own mother or he himself could save his dad. Fuck it, he thought as his regret quickly turned back to anger. This was different. This was Mari and she was his and _he_ _would_ fight for her.

Smiling, Mari took another step away from the bed and savored the rise in his panic along with the look of abject misery that alternated with the glares of pure hatred on his face. She felt exhilarated as Dean, feeling nothing but desperation, became more and more distraught.

"He can't make you happy," Dean warned her then thought of the obvious, "You can't possible think you'd be satisfied with him, do you?"

The smile he always thought so sensual was now just plain cruel and she continued to enjoy his obvious distress. "You mean after you?" she asked.

"He's not as good in the sack as I am," Dean said arrogantly and she took another step back, "He wouldn't know the first thing about pleasing a woman like you."

"You were wonderful, Dean Winchester," she assured him with a cold smile, "But sex isn't everything."

What the hell was she talking about? Sex was everything but Mari moved on from nasty to altruistic.

"He's so lost, Dean. Maybe I can help him, show him his true worth. Something you never did," she said, back to nasty.

Dean stared at her and couldn't believe what she'd just said. "I did everything for that kid but it was never enough," his anger rising even higher.

Mari laughed and relished the power she held over him as she wielded his insecurities like a spiked club. "I know you've given up a lot to make your brother happy and mine will be just one more person's love that Sammy takes away from you."

Dean's gut wrenched when what he had always felt was true was spoken aloud. Sammy _had_ taken everything from him. First his mother's love then, over the years, his father's and now her's. He couldn't find the words to express his anger at the bitter disappointments that had followed him throughout his life so he yelled out the first thing that came to his confused mind, "Only I can call him Sammy...and I'll kill him if he puts his hands on you!"

"Why, Dean, it's all in the family after all" Mari said with no hint of contrition or embarrassment, "First John...then you…and now Sammy."

Her words hit him like a hammer to the forehead and he stammered "J...J...John? My father?"

Mari just stood, the ever-present enigmatic smile on her serenely lovely face and nodded her head. Dean wanted to smash it in then wrap his hands around her slender neck and choke the life out of her but he couldn't move.

"You knew my father?" he asked as fear clutched desperately at his insides.

"Small netherworld, Dean," she laughed, "We spent a remarkable few days together some years back and then he just up and left me. Someone spirited him out of the hospital in Denver and he crawled away like a coward to let me go on doing what I do best..." Her eyes grew opaque, dead, and she finished, "Sucking the life out of foolish young men...and hunters... like you and your father."

Dean knew she was lying. John Winchester was a dedicated husband and a ruthless hunter and there's no way he would have just let her go and he told her so, "He would have come back to gank you!"

"He didn't dare come back," she hissed, "Because what Mari wants Mari gets...eventually...and I wanted him." She circled the bed like a vulture around carrion her Prada heels clicking on the tile floor and Dean's eyes followed her every move until she spoke again and suggested, "I think he somehow sent you here, you and your brother. Do you think he wanted to have his boys drink from the same fountain?"

"More like eat from the same dumpster you fucking cunt!" Dean shouted and she laughed, the sound of it was harsh in his ears.

She put her finger to her lips. "Shush Dean, you'll wake him," she said moving out of the way to let the young hunter see the bed next to his.

Sam lay on top of the covers, a look of absolute peace on his face. He looked so young, so innocent when he slept and she shivered in anticipation.

"Time to wake up, Sammy," she said and moved next to the bed and shook him gently.

"Mari?" Sam said sleepily opening his eyes and when he saw her he smiled.

"Kiss me, Sammy," she said and when Dean saw his brother reach for her he could no longer breathe, their betrayal a crushing weight on his chest. As he struggled for air everything around him faded to black like the end of a bad movie and, much to his relief, the incessant beeping in the room finally stopped.


	12. Chapter 12

The heart and respiration monitor went flat line and began to wail summoning help. A code blue went out over the intercom and Nurse Hoodoo, whose given name was Odette Charles, and a second nurse rushed into the room with the crash cart in tow while the doctor on call sprinted through the doorway to check on Dean's erratic vitals.

"Son of a bitch! First he bottoms out and now he's in ventricular tachycardia. Bag him," the doctor ordered then turned to Nurse Charles as she manned the cart, "100 mg of lidocaine, IV."

She split open the pack, inserted the needle into the IV shunt and sent the drug home but Dean's arrhythmia continued unabated. The second nurse had started and continued to administer respiration therapy by bagging him to keep up the flow of oxygen to his lungs.

Breaking open the defibrillator container, the doctor grabbed the paddles and held them out while Odette squeezed a large amount of gel on them. He then placed them to the right and left of Dean's heart and, glancing up at the resuscitating nurse, nodded. She stepped away from the patient and he yelled, "Clear!"

The machine whined as the paddles quickly charged then just as quickly discharged. Dean's upper body bucked, lifting off the bed as the doctor stared at the wildly spiking readouts and said, "Again!" The paddles were charged once more and Dean's heart was zapped again. This time his sinus rhythm returned to where it had been before the episode, not good but still beating. "This kid's a tough one," the doctor said stepping back from the bed, "Give him a 4 mg Lidocaine drip and we'll see how he fares through the night."

Stripping off his gloves the doctor walked briskly to the door and as the second nurse moved to make way for him she bumped the other bed in the room and was surprised to see Dean Winchester's brother sleeping soundly.

"How can he sleep through all this?" she asked Nurse Charles in an exaggerated whisper.

"Probably exhausted," she replied thinking back to the perfume she smelled on him.

"Well," the first nurse replied as she pushed the cart over next to the wall by Dean's bed, "It'll all be over soon."

Checking on the still sleeping Sam Winchester Nurse Charles looked back over her ample shoulder to the Winchester they had almost lost and was startled to see Dean's eyes now open and staring at his brother's sleeping form.

"Get away from him," he mumbled groggily and blinked owlishly.

"Don't you be frettin'. I'm just putting a blanket over him. Sammy's fine," Nurse Charles assured him, "I just came by to see how _you_ were doing."

Dean slowly reached out toward Sam but Odette took his hand and tucked it back under the blanket before he could pull out the IV line. She started to walk away but the young man's panic followed in her wake and he begged, "Please. Wake him up."

Nurse Charles stopped and shook her head. "He needs his sleep, poor lamb, and so do you. You're not out of the woods yet."

Tears welled up in Dean's eyes. He could tell she meant well but her compassion would kill them both if she didn't awaken his brother and he croaked out much more forcefully, "Wake him up! Please!"

"All right, if it means that much to you," she huffed, "but you need to stop being so bossy where your brother's concerned."

Shaking Sam's arm drew no response from him and she turned back to Dean. The look in his eyes convinced her to try again. "Sammy," she said gently, "your brother's awake and he needs you." She still got no response and wondered if he, too, had come down with the same illness that plagued his brother.

Please wake up, Sammy, Dean begged silently and, panic stricken, he mustered his last ounce of strength and rolled over. He fell out of the bed with a crash, bruising every part of his body, ripping the catheter painfully from his hand and, as the electrodes ripped free from his chest and the monitor flat lined yet again, Nurse Charles rushed to him.

She tried to help Dean back into bed but, using her helping arms as leverage, he pushed off of her and fell forward onto Sam's bed. His arms barely kept him in an upright position and, with his head bent and his mouth next to Sam's ear, he spoke with great effort, "Sammy, it's me, man. I know you're having the best sex you've ever had right now but think about it. A woman like that…with you?" He pulled in a ragged breath and continued as Nurse Charles just watched and listened, "It's not real. She's not real. She's the hottie from hell and I need you here with me so we can send her back."

But Sam slept on never moving so much as an eyelash so Dean told him, "I know what's wrong with me and it'll be wrong with you, too, if you don't wake up!" With still no response from his brother Dean unfastened the safety pin that was used to anchor the call button cord to the sheet and drove the tip of it deep into the top of his brother's outstretched hand. "Wake up, Goddamn it," he wheezed gasping for air.

"Ow!" Sam sat bolt upright and grabbed his hand. He looked around dazed and confused and watched as Dean gave up his hold on the bed and melted back onto the floor. "Dean!" Sam shouted and, with hands strategically place over his crotch, he got up to help Nurse Hoodoo get Dean settled back into his bed.

The task completed Odette glared at the two of them, "You two want to tell me what's going on here?"

Sam wasn't really sure what was going on. What he did know was that Dean would clue him in but only when they were alone. He remained mute and simply held out his bleeding hand and gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

Snorting, Odette walked over to the crash cart and started to rummage through one of the drawers at the bottom. She eventually came up with a small box and turning to Dean said, "If I didn't know you were so sick I'd think this was some kind of fraternity prank."

Dean looked at her contritely but said nothing in his defense. She gave him the once over with a first class stink eye then walked back to Sam. She picked up his hand and he tried to reassure her, "No Ma'am, it's not a…Ow!" he cried yanking his hand back.

"Its just some disinfectant, child," Nurse Charles sighed shaking her head, "Now hold still so I can tend to your booboo."


	13. Chapter 13

After she had gone Dean stared at the brightly colored Dora the Explorer band-aid on Sam's hand and tried to compose his thoughts before speaking. He had been so in love...or lust...or whatever...with the beautiful hell bitch Mari that the last vestige of his jealous rage towards his brother was taking some time to dissipate. And while her claim about his father had twisted his head so far around that he felt he was only one family skeleton shy of being a total coffin case, thing had finally started to make some sense.

"Sammy, I know what's been going on."

"Don't try to talk, Dean," Sam urged staring down at the floor determined not to remember his brother wasting away in a hospital bed when it was all over, "Save your strength."

"It's okay. I think I know what's been happening to me."

"You're dying that's what's happening." Sam almost choked on the words.

"You wish," Dean wheezed incredulously, "You're not getting my car any time soon."

Sam looked up at his brother's ravaged face and noticed a spark in his eyes.

"Like I said, I know what's been going on."

Sam's cheeks suffused with red and he hoped to hell Dean didn't really because he had been having the mother of all erotic dreams...until the safety pin through the hand.

"You were dreaming about Mari, from the bar, right?"

"Yeah but how did you know?" Sam answered cautiously fearing that his answer could lead to Dean starring in 'The Attack of the Insanely Jealous Brother'.

"Been there, done that," Dean said with a wink and, demonic or not, it was what it was, "Good, huh?"

"Great," Sam said sheepishly and lowering his gaze he again placed his hands strategically over his crotch.

"Do me a favor, bro and look up Succubus. You should find our bitchin' valley of death girl listed prominently in the who's who of mega-Sucs under the name Maridiana."

Sam's head snapped up and he gawked at Dean. He knew his brother could be less than discriminating when it came to women...something about living for today...but this was disgusting. He started to reach for their father's journal on the bed stand but Dean stopped him.

"Not the book. Google her...it," he suggested.

"A Succubus. No wonder all you wanted to do was sleep," Sam said as he fished his ever-present computer out of his backpack. He connected wirelessly to the Internet, searched for the keyword and started to read aloud. "Succubus. The actual name has its origins from the Latin succuba meaning strumpet or prostitute."

"I knew it!" Dean interrupted, "The first time I saw her I was willing to sell one of your kidneys just to jump her bones."

"Thanks," Sam said sarcastically.

"What? You have a spare. Keep reading."

"A succubus is a sexual demon that preys on a mortal man while he sleeps, sucking the life force from him. According to most medieval theologians, incubi, the male counterpart, outnumbered succubi by about nine to one but the females made up for, in menace, what they lacked in numbers by being alluring and persuasive, using their considerable charms to seduce men and lead them to eternal damnation."

Dean sighed. He'd been damned alright, not once but over and over again.

"In some instances the spirit enters in through masturbation and fantasy lust," Sam continued and snorted a laugh, "If the individual renounced the fantasy lust and stopped choking the chicken, he was delivered."

"Medieval dudes choked the chicken?"

"I'm paraphrasing," Sam told him then asked, "So Dean, are you ready to give it up? To be delivered?"

"I'll be delivered as soon as we deliver her sweet ass to hell." Dean assured him but added, "Besides, everybody needs a hobby."

"Wait! I think I found her," Sam said, yet again in awe of the internet, "In 999, after being jilted by the daughter of the Provost of Rheims, Gerbert of Aurillac met a beautiful maiden with long black hair and dark blue eyes named Maridiana. She offered him sex, magical knowledge and money if he would stay faithful to her. He agreed and he prospered becoming Archbishop of Rhiems and ultimately Pope, all the while keeping Maridiana a secret." Sam forged ahead and condensed what he read. "But good old Gerbert got drunk and let some long lost Provost's daughter seduce him. Maridianna forgave him but, as we all know, a woman scorned is...well, really mean. She prophesied that Aurillac would die celebrating mass and he did, just like she said."

"More like a curse than a prophecy. Does it say how to get rid of one of these things?"

"Besides giving up spanking the monkey?"

"Yeah, give me something I can actually do."

Sam snorted again pleased that his brother was slowly but surely returning to the smart-ass he knew and loved. He read on. "It's believed Maridiana is a cambion."

"A Cambodian?" Dean asked, a constipated look on his face.

Sam sighed and continued, "In Medieval legend a _cambion_ is the half-human offspring of the union between a human male and a succubus or of an incubus and a human female. The cambion is a still birth that shows no sign of life outside of being alive, meaning that the child has, for example, no pulse and no breath."

"Jesus," Dean swore thoroughly revolted by what Sam was reading, "This just keeps getting better and better." He knew Mari was cold blooded and hard-hearted and maybe she didn't have a pulse but she was one hell of a breather and had almost sucked the very life out of him.

"This continues until the child is about seven years old when it becomes increasingly difficult to differentiate one from a human. A cambion is usually devilishly cunning and angelically beautiful and able to persuade even the most strong-hearted individual to do his or her bidding. Most cambions have evil tendencies due to their demon parent."

"I'm guessing it didn't take a catapult scientist to figure that out," Dean said under his breath.

Sam ignored him and kept reading. "While most cambions simply steal the life force from their willing victims, there are some who come to their victims in the flesh and harvest the actual sperm."

For Sam it had only been a dream, one cut thankfully short by the safety pin, but Dean had been with her, in the flesh as it were, and the younger Winchester's stomach roiled. He sneaked a look at his brother whose face was whiter than the pillowcase he rested his head on, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Due to this inability to create or nurture life, the method of the creation of a cambion is necessarily protracted. A succubus will have sexual relations with a human male and by doing so acquire a sample of his sperm. This she will then pass on to an incubus. The incubus will, in turn, transfer the sperm to a human female and thus impregnate her. Why this should result in anything _other_ than a perfectly normal child is not discussed."

Sam looked up from the screen at Dean who added, "Because it's so fucked up, that's why it's not discussed!" His blood pressure skyrocketed and so much color suddenly suffusing his cheeks that Sam thought his brother's brain might have sprung a leak. "Find me a way to kill her, Sammy," Dean demanded as he struggled to sit up in the bed, "I'm not ready for the pitter patter of little demon spawn feet."

"She's half human," Sam reminded him.

Dean did the math. "Then I'm guessing if we damage her human half beyond repair the demon half will follow."

Sam was understandably skeptical and wanted to know, "If it's that easy why hasn't somebody killed her before this?"

Dean, the world's biggest pragmatist, suggested, "Because nobody wanted to. Think about it Sammy. She's every man's fantasy. Beautiful, rich, knows what a Holley carburetor is and she owns a bar."

"That's it, Dean. That's the common denominator," Sam said as he punched in and located a list of bars with the name Red Ram on his computer then cross referenced the county records for any unusual deaths. "The Red Ram, Georgetown Colorado, Clear Creek County. Six unexplained deaths in one year. The Red Ram, Schaumburg, Illinois, Cook county. Eight young men died of 'natural causes' in two years. Dean, the list just goes on and on and I bet her name comes up on every deed."

"She's not just _a_ bitch, she's _the_ bitch."

"She told me she's buying another bar in Oregon."

Ignoring the fact that Sam had evidently spoken to Mari, Dean just said with finality, "Then we'll just have to put her out of business."

"How are we going to find her again?" Sam asked as he closed the laptop.

"She's got a hard on for you now, Gerbert, so with a little help from my friend," Dean lifted his blanket revealing a loaded syringe, "I'll take care of the rest."

Sam looked at the proximity of the crash cart and saw that it was just within Dean's reach and shook his head. It was a crazy idea and it just might work but Sam was concerned about Dean's state of mind, not to mention his fragile health. He was about to suggest they trade places but a warning look from his brother, even before he got the words out, settled it.

"How will you know when she's with me?"

"Sammy, I'm so close to the next realm," Dean admitted, "That I can see her however she shows herself."

Sam looked at his brother and realized just how close he'd come to losing him yet again, how he still might. Dean looked worse than hammered shit and he could only hope that, when it came time, Dean would still have the strength to kill her. He, himself, would be no match for her because, spawned in the first century, Mari was the ultimate cougar and Sam, even at the best of times, had no willpower when it came to women.

Still not convinced it was a sound plan Sam warned his brother, "Listen, if something goes wrong I'll be so messed up from the narcotics that I won't be able to help you."

Dean saw the worried look on his younger brother's face and assured him, "Not to worry, Sammy. I'd never live it down if I lost a woman to you. You're just a pretty face. No substance, if you know what I mean," and recalling a time many years ago in Georgetown, Colorado, Dean practically growled, "And that bitch is mine."

Sam smiled and, laying his hand on Dean's arm, squeezed tightly as if trying to will some of his strength into his brother's ravaged body.

"Thanks, Bro," Sam said earnestly.

"Go on and get what we need from the car," Dean told him, "We don't have much time."


	14. Chapter 14

Sam watched apprehensively as Mari walked through the hospital room door dressed in a hot little black number, wearing open toed 'fuck me' high heels and sporting a ruby the size of a golf ball at her throat. The overall effect reminded him of a black widow spider. She gave a cursory glance at Dean and seemed annoyed that his monitor still kept up the persistent beeping.

"You should put him out of his misery, Sam. Pull the plug as it were," she said stopping between the beds and turning her back to Dean.

"Jesus, Mari, that's harsh. He's my brother," Sam reminded her.

"Never mind him. I came to see you," she said intent in driving all thoughts of family from Sam's mind. She sat on the bed, her fingers lightly touching his hair as she tucked a long strand of it behind his ear.

Sam shivered and sucked in his breath, his dick starting to swell as he watched the tip of her tongue lick her upper lip. Unable to resist her he lunged for her threading his hands through her hair and pulled her to him kissing her brutally, his teeth cutting his lip. He then forced her mouth open and slid his tongue inside.

That's a good boy she thought smugly and broke away. Pushing him back against the pillow she lifted his shirt, her mouth following a trail down his chest to his navel. As she swirled her tongue her hands made quick work of his belt and pants pulling them down around his thighs. She continued to kiss and lick her way down to his raging hard on.

When she took him in her mouth Sam moaned aloud and closed his eyes. When he opened them again Dean stood at the foot of the bed, shotgun in his hand.

Completely bewitched by her Sam called out, "No, Dean! It's okay. She's not gonna hurt me."

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean said weakly but evenly to his brother. He then turned his attention to Mari, "Step away from the geek, Mari."

His voice, as well as his will, was like steel...or so he thought as he heard her sigh and watched her stand up and wipe her mouth daintily.

"Do you get off on watching. Dean?" she asked him annoyance edging her voice. She knew he was neither dead nor in Sam's dream but somewhere in between. It didn't matter because she would send him the rest of the way to hell soon enough.

Being close to her again was like a kick to the chest. Dean knew he should just pull the trigger, kill her but, despite what he knew about her, he still wanted her, was still obsessed with her and he lowered the gun.

He just couldn't help himself and begged, "Mari please, I need you."

Mari looked at him with disgust and said, her words cutting like a knife, "But I don't need you."

Sam got out of the bed and pulling his pants back up warned his brother, "Leave us alone, Dean," before yanking Mari protectively into his embrace.

"I'm with Sam now, Dean. He's not your baby brother anymore. He's a grown man," she said and turned to face Sam. "Handsome, well educated, intelligent. A man any woman would be proud to love without reservation or regret," she said running a finger down his flushed cheek.

How could she hurt him so much just by stating the obvious about his brother Dean wondered as his heart started to hammer in his chest. Sam was all she said and more, everything he was not nor would ever be and, as if he didn't know the truth of the matter, surprisingly, Sam verbally attacked him.

"It's true", Sam declared, "I had to fight for every day of schooling I got and would settle for nothing less than A's so I could make something of myself. So I wouldn't be a disappointment to Dad."

Dean stared at Sam as if he'd grown a second head. His baby brother had never disappointed their father and every time John Winchester told him how proud he was of Sam it had cut Dean like a knife.

"You mean like me?" Dean asked, "He didn't expect anything from you so how could you disappoint him? He expected everything from me. To be both mother and father to you, to keep you safe and I failed him over and over again. Do you know what it's like to endure that look of disappointment time and time again?"

"Sure I do! I always felt like I didn't matter to him. That I wasn't good enough to be taken into his confidence or to work with him like you. I had to fight for every minute of Dad's time and every ounce of affection until I couldn't fight anymore. Affection he gave you willingly."

"Put down the crack pipe, Sammy. A general doesn't have affection for his troops. He saves it for his family, you, not his 'little soldier'."

Like father like sons Mari thought. All three of them had amazingly strong life forces that were greatly enhanced by their passionate natures and even their petty bickering kept them fully charged. They were so macho, so intense and so frigging clueless Mari thought as she watched the exchange with amusement.

But the time had come to take care of business and she broke up the quality family time when she told Dean, "None of this matters, Dean."

Frustration and anger burned deeply as Dean tried to deal with the fact that Mari had clearly chosen Sam over him and that Sam would go along willingly. He was out of options so he would try a final desperate end run around his brother.

"You want sloppy seconds, Sammy? Go ahead," he asked, "How about sloppy thirds?"

"What's he mean, Mari?" Sam asked holding Mari tighter.

Before she could lie to him Dean blurted out, "I mean Dad! She banged Dad!"

Sam was stunned into silence and gawked first at Dean then at Mari. She just smiled, guilty as charged.

Goddamn it! Why had he said it? Why had he wanted to hurt Sam so badly? Like a bad case of verbal diarrhea it had just spewed out and he no idea that Sam would take the information and run amok with it.

Fear now gripped Sam's guts with icy claws and he wanted to know...everything.

"When? When did you sleep with him?" he shouted and grabbed Mari's shoulders, panic in his voice.

"Sammy, Sammy. So clever," she cooed, "You're wondering if I used your father for more than just my pleasure. Why your mother died the way she did. Why you're so different."

Dean watched Sam's face blanch and knew what he was thinking and he growled at her, "Shut up, Mari. Shut the fuck up."

Ignoring him she just laughed as Sam's world spun out of control.

If he was asleep he needed to wake up from the nightmare but Sam found he couldn't force himself back into the waking world the way he could when the cold, dark night was preferable to his nightmares. If he were already awake then he was just plain screwed. As it was his limbs turned to jelly, his breathing became labored and instead of pushing her away he clung to her for support.

Dean's voice sounded very far away.

"Think about it, Sammy," he pleaded,"If you were one of them you couldn't have held your breath until I caved in to all your dumb-ass demands. You wouldn't have had any breath to hold!"

Mari was wallowing in Sam's fear and panic and athough she was loath to pull away from him she had unfinished business.

"Dean's right, Sam. I find no need to procreate," she said extricating herself from his grasp, "There are enough of my kind in the world…along with others who are far worse. It's you who are on the endangered species list, not us. Your father told me everything about his boys, about his sweet little wife," she said turning to look Dean in the eye as she moved in for the kill.

"You're a lying bitch. He wouldn't have had anything to do with an abomination like you."

Gripping the emotional knife she'd stuck in Dean Winchester's gut Mari twisted it with her words.

"Do you want to hear all about it, Dean?" she asked, "How he took me in his arms, made love to me? How I ran my tongue across that Marie Corps tattoo of his? Semper Fidelis...always faithful...until someone else comes along."

Mari could feel Dean's heart thundering in his chest; see him start to gasp for breath and start to falter. He needed just one more hit and she strode the few steps to come within inches of him to deliver the knock out punch.

"I fucked John Winchester! I fucked him eight ways to Sunday, Deanie, and he loved it!"

Dean's face was pale, his skin clammy as she ran a finger down his face seductively.

"He was bigger than you, could really drive it home," she said aloud then moved even closer, her lips to his ear and finished with a whisper, "But he didn't have your lips."

Dean had heard enough but before he could recoil in revulsion, she placed her lips gently on his and his world went blessedly black.


	15. Chapter 15

The shotgun blast was deafening and the small room quickly filled with the acrid smell of sulfur. Sam, startled out of his drug induced stupor, struggled to sit up and wiped something wet from his face. Maridiana's mortal remains were splattered all over him and onto the wall behind the bed. He looked at the blood on his hands then down at the gore covering him but after only a few moments the viscera began to whither and blacken to a fine powder until the consecrated bits of iron that had been firmly imbedded in her body were the only things left.

Dean lay on the floor, the shotgun beside him. Jumping from the bed Sam's first reaction was to grab the weapon and shove it under a blanket. His second was to come up with a plausible explanation for the noise before the pounding on the door started. As quickly and as quietly as he could he upended the crash cart and reached for the door lock seconds before Nurse Hoodoo rushed in.

"What in the name of all that's holy is goin' on in here?" she demanded, "I've got more patients than I can handle right now so I don't need any monkey business from you two."

"It's...it's Dean," Sam stammered pointing to his brother's prone form, "He tried to get out of bed and knocked the cart over."

Nurse Charles bent down and felt for a pulse.

"His pulse is good," she told Sam, "A lot stronger than it was but he still shouldn't be tryin' to get up outta this bed. Not even with your help."

She looked pointedly at Sam who breathed easier knowing Mari hadn't exacted some final revenge before she took the 3:10 to Perdition.

"What can I say?" he shrugged helping her get Dean up and settled into bed once again, "He's my big brother."

"That may be but he ain't the boss of you," she harrumphed as she walked briskly to the door then turned, "And I don't have to remind you there's no smoking, do I? There's oxygen in here. You want to blow yourselves up?"

When she was gone Sam sucked in a lung full of air and let it out slowly. What had just happened? Dean was supposed to shoot her not beg her to take him back. And him, he was supposed to break up with her but quickly found he was ready to let her blow him again and again until 'she' cried uncle. He'd also been ready to fight Dean tooth and nail for her.

Mari had been good at her job, pitting them against one another, shredding them emotionally. She even brought John Winchester into the mix by claiming to have had sex with him and inferring Sam might be like her. Dean had talked him down off that ledge and showed him what she really was. A blue eyed demon as deceitful and as lethal as old yellow eyes himself.

Sam sat down on the bed and covered his face with his hands. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to take a shower with lye soap to wash her lipstick off his dick and throw up again. The woman he would have given his left nut to have was not a woman at all. She was not even all the way human and he felt filthy and wondered how things could possibly get any worse.

"I am too the boss of you."

Sam looked up to see Dean smiling wearily at him and he had no choice but to laugh.

A day later Sam and Dean Winchester sat in the Impala in front of the Red Ram waiting for Clancy's VW Bug to pull in. It was half past dark and Dean was anxious to leave Avery behind but would stay if Sam wanted.

"We can stick around for a couple of days," he offered but Sam shook his head.

"No, I just want to say thanks and that I'm sorry about the job thing."

"We don't know if the place will shut down. Maybe Mari had partners in the business and, technically, she's only missing."

"Maybe but I hope the place burns to the ground," Sam said grimly.

Dean hoped so, too.

Clancy pulled into the parking lot Sam got out of the Impala and walked to her car. She rolled down the window and smiled warmly at him.

As Dean watched them talk one of the bar backs, out for a smoke break, came up to admire the Impala.

"Sweet ride," he said and stubbed out his cigarette, "You ever see Mari's Shelby?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean said relieved that the car was indeed real and not a figment of his or Mari's imagination, "I don't see it here, though."

"Nobody's seen her for a couple of days but you're the third guy who's asked," the guy said waggling his eyebrows.

"I just bet I am," Dean said as Sam got back into the car. Dean put the Impala in gear but before he rolled up his window added, "If anyone else asks you can just tell 'em Mari's left the building?"

The bar back smiled tentatively and asked, "You mean like Elvis?"

"You got it, bro" Dean said as he stepped on the gas, the Impala fishtailing in the gravel sending pieces of stone and a cloud of dust up into the air until the tires bit into hardtop.

They left the Red Ram behind driving for miles in silence until Sam couldn't stand it any longer. He needed to explain to his brother that he hadn't meant the things he'd said. Not true. He had meant them at the time but he hadn't meant them to hurt as much as they had. He also wanted to swear on a stack of bibles that he would never have tried to take his girlfriend if she hadn't been using her demonic wiles on him.

"Dean, I…" he started awkwardly.

"Don't!" Dean ordered. He had known it was only a matter of time before Sammy would want to talk about it, to hash it out, to try and get his mind wrapped around the whole sordid affair but he wasn't in the mood. As things stood he would probably never be in the mood to discuss Maridiana Q. Succubus.

"But …the things I said…I didn't…"

"It was just a dream, Sammy. A really, really bad dream."

"The things she said…" Sam said trying to broach the subject again.

"She was a lying bitch, bro," Dean told him then said under his breath, "You really know how to pick 'em, Sammy."

Sam heard him and laughed.

"I know how to pick 'em?" he countered turning to look out his window then mumbled under his breath, "Douche."

Dean snorted and they drove on in what he hoped would now be companionable silence.

"Do you really think Dad slept with her?"

Dean didn't think his dad 'slept' with Mari. He was pretty sure he did fuck _her_ eight ways to Sunday but he wasn't about to tell Sammy that and said instead, "Dude, what part of lying bitch don't you get?"

Dean knew Sam wasn't done yet and, unless he got out of the car and started hitchhiking, he knew he couldn't dodge his questions forever. He hesitated for a moment wondering what to do. Tell the truth or lie.

"Dad only went for blondes."

Sam smiled half-heartedly and turned to look out the window once again.

Dean didn't know if his brother believed him or not but he hoped that Sam wouldn't bring it up again.

"Dean?" Sam said softly.

'Kill me now', Dean begged silently.

"Do you think she was lying about not procreating?"

Dean guts knotted back up and he told him, "Not going there, Sammy."

"But…"

Dean stopped him. "You read it yourself. A Cambion is just a medieval myth," he told him, " If she was a Cambodian then I might be worried."

Sam laughed and told him for the millionth time, "You are such an ass."

* * *

The motel in Byers made the Bates Motel look like a four star resort but, as tired as they were, they decided that any port in the storm would do and checked in.

Dean walked over to Sam's bed and looked down at his brother's still form, face down in the pillow, and watched him for a good five minutes. Sam didn't move once. He was as still as death and Dean's stomach clenched then relaxed when Sam finally woke up long enough to turn over and wipe the drool from his cheek.

"You okay?" he asked groggily when he realized Dean stood next to the bed.

"Yeah, go back to sleep."

Sam smiled, closed his eyes and quickly drifted back to sleep.

Old habits died hard and Dean knew he would always watch out for Sammy. It was part of the job, part of being family.

Reaching for his father's journal he sat down on his bed, leaned back against the headboard and flipped slowly through the pages until he came to the one he wanted. It was a sheet tucked away toward the back of the book, nowhere near the heading of Succubus, with the name Maridiana and Georgetown, Colorado written on it in his father's hand...over and over and over.

Dean slowly and quietly ripped it from the leather bound journal, grabbed an ashtray from the bedside table and set it on his stomach. He slipped his lighter from his jeans pocket, lit it and held the flame to the edge of the sheet. It caught quickly and he turned it in his hand to keep the flame burning until it was nothing but ash.

He set the ashtray back on the table, leaned back and laced his hand behind his head and whispered just one word, "Bitch."

_**Fin**_

Thank you all for bearing with me while I did some housekeeping on this story and for allowing me to do what I love. Now I have to see a couple of hunters about a witch so please join me for 'Season of the Witch'.

And, in case you read this one first, you can come full circle and see how Mari and John first met in 'Daddy's Gone a Hunting.'

Thanks again!


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